dear francis,

i love you. it isn't only because you are a rockstar or the most patient man to ever grace this mighty earth. it isn't because you are genuinely kind. its not just because you call me randomly to fill me in on the sweetest things. it isn't because you explain rocket science concepts to me in ways that i not only understand, but could teach them to others. it's not just because you catch me off guard with kindness or challenge me with constructive words. it isn't because you ask big questions that you think i hold the answers to. it isn't because you exceed my expectations. it's not because you keep my secrets and protect my heart, fears, dreams, and plans. it's not because you love Jesus more than you love me. it's not because you are practical and think logically in all the ways i don't. it isn't because you never leave the house without cologne and always smell dreamy. it isn't because you have class, manners and say please, thank you, and God bless you when i sneeze. it isn't because you notice the small things--the way i bite my bottom lip when i'm near tears, or the new polish on my fingers. it isn't because you drive me, pick me up, and drop me off just about every place in this big, beautiful city of ours and only mention how bad traffic was every one in three thousand times. it isn't because you still remember minute details from rambling stories i've told two years after the fact. it isn't because many of my happiest memories cast you in the starring role. it isn't because you trust me with life's biggest things or because you put effort into knowing each one of my family and friends like a note card with bullet points (all gazillion of them). it isn't because of your deep voice or the way you use it to console my sensitive little heart or affirm my life plans, not to mention make me laugh uncontrollably with the things you say. it isn't only because you make me feel capable and qualified of anything my heart desires. it isn't because you've let me plan our someday wedding since before we even knew there'd be one and didn't run for the hills long ago. it isn't because you argue with me to fix things and grow stronger, not just to argue. it isn't because you let me choose the radio station in the car. it isn't because you are the most devastatingly handsome man i've ever laid eyes on or the way i know you'll shy away from the screen when you read that part. it also isn't because you seek adventure with me, even when you'd rather stay home. it isn't because i could continue to write until this was a novel that took a lifetime.

it's because you are, because you do, because of all of these things and more.

thank you for being you. thank you for being.

hilary

{image: Domino magazine}